Cardigans and Cookbooks
by luv2sk8er
Summary: Season 4 finale (Raincoats and Recipes) contined. Yes, it's been beaten to death (we're talkin' Passion of the Christ here, folks) but I need SOMETHING to tide me over 'til September. Give it a try! LL with Rory angst. WIP, reviews appreciated!
1. Aftermath, aka In Which Rory Cries

**Title**: Cardigans and Cookbooks  
  
**Author**: luv2sk8er, aka Sophia.   
  
**Rating**:PG-13. For now. Muahahaha.   
  
**Summary**: Season 4 finale continued. Yes, it's been beaten to death, Passion of the Christ-style, but I need SOMETHING to tide me over 'til September. Give it a try! L/L with Rory angst. Note the nifty title.  
  
**Disclaimer**: I own nothing! Nothing! All of this belongs to Amy Sherman-Palladino, without whom there would be no reason to live on Tuesday nights. Well, besides American Idol. Let's face it: This is Fox's world now, and we just live in it.

**A/N**: My first GG fic. Wrote first chapter in about an hour, without a beta, so it's not exactly a literary masterpiece, but hey. Please don't be afraid to criticize and make suggestions, as I'm not too sure where I'm headed with this story yet. Review and I'll love you more than Lorelai loves coffee and Molly Ringwald combined.   
  
_No. No. No. Nonononononononononononono...  
_  
Denial. She refuses to let anything pull her down from her cloud of bliss, refuses to let Lorelai's sharp words burst her bubble of illusion and perfection. Her first time was everything it should've been: awkwardness and love and passion. She can't understand why her mother, her best friend, isn't snooping for details, making rapidfire jokes peppered with Tori Spelling references, or hovering over her and asking concerned questions. She trusts Rory, doesn't she? After nineteen years of practically raising her own mother, she should realize that what Rory did was in the heat of the moment, but it would all work out for the best. At least she'd used protection, and she's nineteen, for God's sake.   
  
She's not some stupid little girl, caught up in a naive fantasy. She's not.   
  
_No. No. No. No. No. No. Shut up, Mom. Don't ruin this. You're just jealous because you can't bear to see your little girl grow up and being smarter than you were with Dad and knowing that this is perfect and everything I wanted it to be and so much more and besides, you like Dean and we love each other and this will all work out and he's not married now, he's not, if you could just see the way he held me and touched me and I..._  
  
Oh, God.   
  
She pushes past a shocked Lorelai and slams the door. She doesn't know where she's going, really, but she needs to get out. Wrapping her coat tightly around her, even though it's a warm May night, Rory whips out her cell phone. She intends to call Lane so she can spend the night at her best friend's hovel of an apartment, but her fingers disobey. Pressing speed dial number nine, she takes a deep breath as she realizes she's called Dean's house.   
  
Lindsey answers. She's not supposed to live there. She's not right for Dean. Rory's right for Dean, not this bimbo. But Dean's married to her. Maybe even loves her. He said he didn't, but she knows now, her vision free from the clouds of fairy tales and fantasy. It's like every insipid teenage romance she's read before, the kind that makes you want to scream at the girl for being such a complete idiot, for being so blinded by love that she can't see the obvious.   
  
That's Rory.  
  
She stopped on the path, unsure of whether to say or scream anything into the phone. Silence is all she can muster until Lindsey finally hangs up. Tears prick her eyes, but she won't cry. She won't let herself cry over him, dammit.   
  
But as she falls to her knees in the middle of the wet grass and hears her mother's heels making their way across the porch, the dam breaks and everything spills over. The next thing she knows, she's kneeling on the lawn and sobbing uncontrollably into her mother's best dress while Lorelai smoothes back her hair and hums soothingly.  
  
Soon, Rory's wails are reduced to sniffles and whimpers. She's cried so much, she actually feels thirsty for the lack of moisture in her body. Lorelai wordlessly stands up and grasps Rory's hand, pulling her up, and begins to walk back to the house.   
  
"No, no, no, no." Rory insists. "Not there. No."   
  
Shaking her head, Lorelai pulls Rory along until they reach the front porch and step inside the house that will never be the same.   
  
"I don't want...I can't talk now." Rory hiccups. "I just, I can't focus and I have to realize the full implications and consequences of what Dean" –she winces at the sudden shock of saying his name– "and I did, and I don't think I can stay in my bedroom ever again, I can barely stay in this house, and..."   
  
"Shhhhh. Take as long as you need to, sweets." Smiling sadly, she draws her daughter into a fierce hug. "I wish I could lie to you and say we'll get through this easily, but I can't. This is gonna be tough, babe, but I'm here. I love you, okay?"  
  
"I love you too, Mom." Tears welled up in Rory's eyes once more, but she fought to keep them down. "I think I'm gonna sleep now."   
  
Somewhat reluctantly, Lorelai released Rory from her tight embrace. "I was gonna go head back to the Inn, but do you want me to stay? I can call Sookie and Michel and have them close up. After they're done dealing with Naked Kirk, the festivities should wind down fast."  
  
"Naked Kirk?" Despite the situation, Rory managed a small snort of disbelief. "You should go back. I want to know every detail."   
  
"See, I'd tell you, but I'm not planning to have you committed to Hartford Memorial's psych ward until _after_ you graduate from Yale."   
  
"Well, maybe not _every _detail, then." Rory conceded. "But still. You should go."   
  
"Honey, it's just a test run..."   
  
"Mom, no offense, but I need to be alone right now. And this is the Dragonfly. Go." Rory insisted. "I'll be okay." Mustering up a wan smile, she pulled the worn couch blanket over her, laid down amongst an assortment of pillows, and reached underneath the sofa to pull out a battered copy of Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing.   
  
"Okay, hon. I'll be back in an hour or so. Sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite." Arranging the blankets around her daughter, she kissed her forehead and dimmed the lights before slipping outside.   
  
"Night, Mommy." Rory whispered to the empty room, shutting her eyes tightly as she drifted off into a restless sleep.

* * *

"No, I am telling you," Michel whined loudly, "they sent it back! 'The crust is too soggy', they say, 'the berries are too sour'. You should appreciate what I am doing, I am no messenger boy. I am a co-manager of this inn!"  
  
"Impossible!" Sookie snorted. "This is marionberry pie! This is my specialty! Make them eat it! I'll be damned if they'll insult my pie and get away with it!"  
  
"Well, see you in hell then." Michel sniffed. "Again, do I look like a messenger boy? Do I have one of those horrible little caps and a canvas tote? Tiny little shorts? No, no, I am not..."   
  
"Ooooh, Michel, sometimes, I swear to God..."   
  
"Hi," Lorelai interrupted, making her way behind the front desk. "The who and that what-what-what now?"   
  
"She is insulting me again!" Michel wailed. "Make her stop!"  
  
Ignoring Michel, as usual, Sookie turned to her best friend. "You missed all the fun, Lorelai. It took Luke, the fire department, and blueberry muffins to get Kirk out of that tree. Most of the guests went to bed after they got that delightful eyeful–,"   
  
"–naturally–," Lorelai interjected.   
  
"Naturally. So there's pretty much nothing to do except clean up and scream at customers who don't appreciate perfectly-made marionberry pie."   
  
"Good. Great. Can you two take care of that? I've sort of got a...situation at home that I need to sort out."   
  
"Something happen to Rory?" Sookie asked, frowning. "Is she sick?"   
  
"Not the throwing-up kind, but the messing-up kind. Let's just say that the Gilmore household could be the set of a _Lifetime_ movie right about now." Lorelai explained with a sigh. 

"Poor kid." Sookie clucked sympathetically. "Bring her some dessert."  
  
"I will. Thanks."

* * *

With her black beaded purse hanging from her shoulder and a stack of boxed leftovers tipping precariously in her hands, Lorelai slowly made her way to the jeep. "Curse you, Jimmy Choo." She muttered, attempting to keep her balance on the muddy path.   
  
"Need a hand?" A familiar voice asked.   
  
She nearly dropped the boxes in her arms. "Jason!"

* * *

And with that mean ol' semi-cliffhanger, thus ends the first chapter. Hopefully, there will be a Jason/Luke confrontation and some nice Lorelai/Luke to round it off in the coming chapter. Thanks for reading! 


	2. Goodbye, aka In Which Lorelai Cries Too

_Previously, on Cardigans and Cookbooks..._

With her black beaded purse hanging from her shoulder and a stack of boxed leftovers tipping precariously in her hands, Lorelai slowly made her way to the jeep. "Curse you, Jimmy Choo." She muttered, attempting to keep her balance on the muddy path.

"Need a hand?" A familiar voice asked.

She nearly dropped the boxes in her arms. "Jason!"

* * *

He stepped out from behind the Jeep, his hands stuffed in his suit pockets. "I've been looking all over the grounds for you. That chef friend of yours kicked me out of the lobby after I finished dessert. Then I saw your car, and..." 

"Ahhh. Remind me to thank Sookie later." With pursed lips, she continued to the Jeep, intent on making it without spilling any food.

"Here, let me help you–"

"No, I've got it–"

And of course, the four giant boxes, full of leftover chicken, potatoes, salad, and dessert tumbled to the gravel driveway.

"Oh, geez...I'm sorry, Lorelai, I didn't..."

"It's okay. It's just food, not a Jennifer Lopez engagement." Sighing, she bent down and began to attempt a cleanup to salvage the food that hadn't taken a dust bath.

"Good. I need to talk to you."

"Good. I need you to go." She replied, refusing to look at him.

"Lorelai, listen. You're throwing this away. We are perfect together; you know it and I know it. Don't let your pride get in the way of us. I know your track record with guys, Lore, but this is different. You're not thinking straight now. Just sleep on it and–"

Finally, she stood up, the mess on the driveway forgotten. "Are you saying I don't know what I want, Jason?"

He backed off. "Well..."

"That's what it sounded like to me. And I'm sorry if you think differently, but I knew what I was doing three weeks ago and I know what I'm doing now. Goodbye, Jason." With that, she gathered the crushed cardboard in her hands and walked around the side of the inn to dispose of it.

"What is this about, Lorelai?" He followed her. "Is this about the diner man?"

"None of your business." She spat, slamming the dumpster lid down.

"It is! Oh, God!" He gave a forced laugh as he followed her back to her car. "Honestly. Lorelai Gilmore, I've questioned your judgement at times, but this takes the cake. Do you know what a mistake you're making? I can offer you so much more, financial security, places in Paris, LA, anywhere you like." Glimpsing the look on her face, he switched tactics. "This guy is obsessed with you! He doesn't care about you, he's a stalker. Come on, Lore..."

At this, she rounded on him, eyes blazing. "Well, you two would get along fine then, wouldn't you?! You're the one going around, telling people we're still together! Jason Stiles, I have been very, very patient with you tonight. I have a migraine, my inn is opening, my feet hurt like hell, and I have a situation at home that I cannot even begin to comprehend. I broke this off a while ago, and though it's possible we could've worked it out then, I know now that I made the right decision. Now please, go."

"You'll be sorry later, Lorelai. Think about it. And hey, even if you need to have a fling with this guy, I don't mind. Just get it out of your system and call me in a week or two. I'll be waiting."

And Luke, naturally, chose that exact moment to open the door of the Dragonfly. Immediately, Lorelai could tell he had heard the conversation from his set jawline and his terse expression; still, he kept his temper in check, for which she was grateful. "Lorelai. Uhm. Am I interrupting anything?"

They spoke at the same time.

"No, Jason was just leaving."

"Actually, yes, you did." Jason quickly wrapped his arm around Lorelai's waist, keeping her in place. "We're still finishing up our discussion."

Pushing him away, she started toward the inn once more. "There's nothing left to discuss, Jason–"

"Lorelai–"

"Lorelai? Does he need help finding his way out of here?" Luke inquired.

"Clever, diner man." Jason sneered. "Lorelai can take care of herself."

"I know that very well, thank you. I think the question is, can you?" He replied coolly, taking a few menacing steps toward Jason.

"We'll find out soon enough, won't we?" Jason shot back, rolling up his jacket sleeves. Lorelai half-expected them to bare their teeth and growl before she cut in abruptly.

"Both of you! Stop it! This is not _Fight Club_, this is not the WWF, and this is not Act Like A Caveman day. Luke, I appreciate it, but I can handle this. Go back inside, I'll tell you everything later, okay?"

After a moment's consideration, Luke nodded, letting his gaze linger on Lorelai's face before ducking back inside the Dragonfly.

After a moment of silence, Lorelai let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. "Okay, you know what I said earlier? Forget it. This situation has officially been promoted to a whole new level of 'what the hell?'. Forget Bennifer, this is Carmen Electra and Dennis Rodman. Drew Barrymore and Tom Green. Dare I say it, this might even merit a Angelina Jolie and Billy Bob Thor..."

"What do you see in this guy, anyway?" Jason demanded.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, thinking words that weren't too appropriate to verbalize. She opted for the 'nice' over the 'honest' route. "Jason. I am tired and an emotional wreck right now. If you claim to care for me in any way, you will leave in the three-point-two seconds before I spontaneously combust."

Opening his mouth, then closing it again, he nodded. Still, he leaned in for a kiss (Lorelai turned her head so that his lips met her cheek), then stalked off, the gravel crunching beneath his shoes. She watched him go, feeling completely drained.

"Hey, Universe. Wanna throw something else at me? Now's the time. Especially since I don't have enough to deal with as it is." Lorelai muttered sarcastically before heading inside.

* * *

"Hey. How're you doing?" Luke asked sympathetically as Lorelai trudged in. 

"Just dandy. On our next date, we should really consider a ride on the Hindenburg. A cruise on the Titanic, maybe. Oh, oh, better yet? A Perry Como concert." She collapsed next to him on the antique loveseat.

"Uh..." He was at a loss as to how to react.

Almost immediately, she stood back up again and began pacing in front of the fire. "Or perhaps we should just fling ourselves off the nearest building rooftop. Saves money. Although the rooftops in Stars Hollow aren't _quite_ as dramatic as the ones in larger cities, so for full effect, we might want to go to New York. Though, now that I think about it..." She babbled on, her voice growing increasingly hysterical, as it always did when she was upset.

"Lorelai?" Luke looked fearful for her sanity.

"...since gas costs about fifty dollars a gallon nowadays and God knows, neither your truck or my jeep is particularly economic, we should borrow someone's car. Then we could do the whole jumping-off thing properly. A couple of megaphones, police barriers..."

"Lorelai." Luke said a little more forcefully, standing up as well. "Listen to me..."

"...a crowd gathered at the bottom, maybe a helicopter or a nice big fire truck..."

"_Lorelai_!" He snapped, catching her wrist and turning her to face him. In the dying firelight, he could see tears glittering in her eyes. "Lorelai, what's going on?"

"Oh, nothing." She waved a dismissive hand. "My life is in shambles, how 'bout you?"

"Because of _him_? He's not worth it, you know that."

"Oh, no, no, no, no. Not _just_ because of him." She gave a weak laugh, a single tear dropping off her eyelashes and onto her cheek. "In fact, this whole mess with him is probably the least life-shambling of my problems right now."

He permitted himself no more than a raised eyebrow at her invented adjective. "Okay. Well, maybe if you talk about the most, um, life-shambling problem, you'll feel better." He suggested, pulling her onto the couch and rubbing her shoulders.

Suppressing hiccups, Lorelai shook her head. "I can't talk about it. I'm sorry. It's about Rory."

"Oh. I see." He wasn't sure how he felt about being excluded. A sudden thought slammed into his brain, sending adrenaline pumping through his body. "Does this have anything to do with Jess?"

"No, no, no. Definitely no." She assured him, her tears beginning to flow freely now. "I just don't know what to do now. I've always been the messed-up one."

"You're not messed up." Luke said quietly, taking her face in his hands and wiping away her tears with his thumbs.

Lorelai closed her eyes, moisture still leaking out. "Yes, I am. I'm always a wreck, and you and Rory, you guys are always the one stuck with me, and..."

"Shhhhh." He soothed, drawing her into a tight hug. "It'll be okay, whatever it is."

"No, it won't." She argued, sniffling into his brown sweater.

"Hey." Luke whispered. "It will. Shut up."

"Nuh-uh..." She was interrupted as Luke leaned down to kiss her softly. As they parted, Lorelai couldn't help but smile through her tears.

"What?" He asked, smiling slightly himself.

"Do that again. I think I believed you for a second."

* * *

After a restless nap, full of fitful dreams and ending with Rory waking up in a cold sweat, she paced the length of the hallway with a backpack full of clothes and books. The sensible, practical part of her brain screamed, _What about Yale? What about Mom?_, but she chose to ignore it. It was the sensible, practical Rory that had landed in this mess, after all. 

_I just have to get away for a little while,_ she promised herself. _I'll be back as soon as I figure everything out._

She didn't know where she was going. Lane's apartment was crowded enough as it is, and she knew though her best friend loved her, she wouldn't be able to listen without smothering her. Going to Grandma and Grandpa's was out of the question, as the stress of the separation was probably enough for them to deal with.

Besides, at either of those places, Lorelai was sure to find out and demand she come home. Rory loved her mother more than life itself, but what she needed more than ever was to be separated. They'd spent so much time being the Gilmores that Rory wasn't sure who she was now. It frightened her and energized her all at once.

She needed anonymity. She needed to escape from Stars Hollow.

Still, as she looked back at the empty house, tears ran down her cheeks. Swallowing hard, she turned and ran down the dark, deserted street before she could change her mind.

* * *

**A/N**: No, this isn't a plot contrivance. I swear. It's what I think Rory would do. Yes, there's the whole Europe thing, but I doubt she'd want to visit the Louvre after all this stuff happened. Thank you for your feedback, and keep 'em coming! 


	3. Runaway, aka In Which Lorelai Cries More

**A/N**: Thanks for all the reviews! Took me a while to write it, but here it is. Slightly different writing style here, as I said, I'm not too sure where I'm going with this story. This chapter's all L/L, Rory will show up later. Suggestions/criticism are definitely welcomed, and if anyone wants to beta, please email me. Thanks!

* * *

She wasn't sure what the hell she was doing, but she knew that it felt good. 

So what if making out with Luke was just distracting her from her problems? There were worse distractions. Like drugs, or murdering people, or his hand gently rubbing her hipbone, slowly inching higher and heating her bare skin underneath her top...

Oh, and then there was the small matter that she was kissing him. And not the regular, stiff sort of kisses on the cheek you give relatives or French acquaintances, or even the "that was a great first/second/third date" kiss. This was...well, "we can't keep our hands off each other" kissing.

Can't you just shut up and enjoy this like a normal person? A small voice in Lorelai's brain asked.

No, not really. She replied, mentally rolling her eyes. _Haven't you learned by now?_

Not that he didn't kiss really well, because he did. Surprisingly well, even. He wasn't being overly touchy-feely or too conservative, just enough. His breath was nice, a bit of salt from dinner with Sookie's pie. And he was being gentle, sweet, not demanding anything of her, simply reacting to what she did. The loveseat was comfy, the fire provided nice, intimate lighting, and his sweater wasn't _cashmere_, but it felt soft beneath her spread fingertips. And yes, she had to admit that his shallow breathing and his chest muscles rising and falling beneath her hands and his quiet groans and his stubble scratching her chin and her leg caught between his were definitely very, very sexy.

So what the hell is wrong with you? Her brain screamed.

This is Luke. Who was trying to be nice. And he kissed you nicely. And you just had to turn it up a notch and now he's going to be thinking things that you're not entirely ready for, just because you were crying and insane and this was very, very stupid, especially before you've even gone out on a first date. With Luke.

This is what Rory was trying to tell you.

Immediately, she froze in his arms.

* * *

So. Here he is. Kissing Lorelai Gilmore. 

Sounds a bit too much like a movie title, but he has to admit that _Lorelai Gilmore_ sounds a hell of a lot better than _Jessica Stein_.

He didn't really know what to do, to be honest. He'd always been Mr. Comfort, the go-to guy for crying on shoulders over breakups, hospitalized parents, whatever. But after their first kiss, he thought he should do something a little nicer. He hadn't expected...this. Still, she was the one who had taken it up a notch.

Not that he was complaining.

Maybe she's realized how long this has been coming. He smiled into her mouth. Her straight, white teeth and seductive lips that hypnotized him into saying yes to anything she asked: feeding her caffeine addiction, fixing a broken pipe, probably even drowning himself in the Hudson River if she threw in some eyelash-batting. She was the greatest of manipulators, and Luke, for once, didn't mind.

But suddenly, she went rigid, pulling away and crossing her arms over her chest, effectively extinguishing any intimacy that existed between the two of them. She had a flustered, panicked look on her face, which wasn't much improvement from the I've-got-the-weight-of-the-world face she'd been wearing before.

Oh, yeah. She has.

* * *

"I, uh..." Lorelai stammered, self-consciously tucking her hair back in place and smoothing out her top. "We, um, w-we shouldn't be doing this here. There are people."

"There are people." Luke repeated dumbly.

"Yes. There are people. Who could...see us." She finished awkwardly.

Raising an eyebrow dubiously, he glanced around. "Like?"

"Uhm, the night manager. Michel or Sookie, if they're still here. One of the guests who have the midnight munchies. Cletus and Desdemona. Haley Joel Osment?"

"Cletus and Desdemona and _who_?" The eyebrow lifted higher.

"The, the, um, horses and the kid from _Sixth Sense_. Look, uh, I should go, I promised Rory I'd be back an hour ago." Grabbing her purse from the floor (where it remained after Luke slipped it off her shoulder), Lorelai stuffed her hands where her jean pockets should have been, only to realize that she was wearing a skirt._ Damn. _"So, um, thanks for, uh, letting me cry on your shoulder–you ever wonder why people say that they cry on your shoulder when they usually cry into, like, the front of your shirt or something? Who makes up these sayings, anyway? I mean..."

"Lorelai. What's wrong? Did I say something wrong? Did we move too fast?" Luke asked, unable to read her face as he followed her to the door. "I'm sorry if I did anything to make you uncomfortable, I just thought..."

"No, no, nothing's wrong. You didn't do anything." She assured him, her heart pounding so loudly that she was sure he could hear it. "I, uh, I just have to go. Really. But, um, thanks." She walked quickly down the porch steps and down the gravel driveway as tiny raindrops started to fall from the starless sky.

"Lorelai!" He called again. But the rhythmic pitter-pattering of the rain and the rumbling of the Jeep's engine drowned him out as she drove away.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Luke was lying in his room at the Dragonfly (_Lucky number 7. Like hell_), staring at the ceiling, and trying very hard not to think about Lorelai Gilmore. 

It was how he had always dealt with problems of this nature. Ignore it long enough and it'll go away. It worked for Dad's death, it worked for Rachel, it worked for Nicole and her Sock Man. For his reputation as Mr. Fixit, it was kind of interesting how he'd taken a completely opposite tack when it came to his emotions.

But he changed all that. For _her_. He'd invited her to Liz's wedding. Danced with her. Asked her to a movie. Bought her goddamn flowers. He hated feeling so vulnerable, so wounded. After Rachel had stuffed his heart through the meat grinder, he'd tried to remain as detached from the world as possible. Which wasn't exactly an option at this point.

The more he tried not to think about it, the more he thought about it. And the more he thought about it, the angrier he got. Who was she to string him along, let him have hope for a blissful 90 minutes before it all came crashing down? It was typical Lorelai behavior, sure, but he'd never expected it to happen to him. He didn't deserve this. He was a good friend, helpful, and he'd always been there for her, dammit. He couldn't walk away and pretend nothing happened now.

He sighed heavily before getting to his feet and grabbing his coat. _Maybe I should've become a monk._

_

* * *

_

Twenty blocks was a long way to walk, especially in fancy shoes. He would've preferred to drive his truck, but Lorelai had insisted that he ride one of those ridiculous Dragonfly carts in for their test run. And, like most things concerning Lorelai, he'd given in. And, like most things concerning Lorelai, he was beginning to regret it. Those damn shoes hadn't been worn for at least a year before being worn at both Liz's wedding and the Inn test run, and they were really starting to annoy him. He gritted his teeth and kept walking.

What the hell are you going to say, man? Luke silently questioned himself. She _walked out on _you_. You're just going to look like a lovesick moron._

_Which you are, really.Get a grip, Danes._

Too late.

As he reached her house and noticed the light from the windows spilling out onto the lawn, he immediately had the urge to turn and run back down the street. Self-preservation instincts, he supposed. But he continued on until he was stepping on their ancient WELCOME mat, decorated with pink bunnies and neon yellow chicks. They had names, too, Luke remembered, named after the characters in Lorelai's favorite sitcom of all time. _Lucy, Ethel, Fred...what the hell is that other guy's name? Dickie?_

Quit stalling.

By now, most of his anger was replaced by complete terror. _Come on, man, you haven't even been on a date with her yet. You can't possibly come over and–_

Decisively, he shot his arm out and pressed the doorbell twice. He froze immediately when he heard her shuffling footsteps grow louder, wishing he could take it back while clowns did cartwheels on his stomach and his toes throbbed in their leather prison.

"L-Luke." Lorelai managed, opening the door. "Wow. Um. Do you...need something?" _Dirty._ She thought, but knew that now wasn't the time to say such a thing out loud. Finding herself unable to meet his eyes, she instead focused on her bare feet that were badly in need of a pedicure. "I, uh, wasn't expecting anyone."

Struck temporarily speechlessby Lorelai's appearance, Luke shook his head briefly to clear his mind. _God, she's beautiful._

Even when her eyes were red and swollen with mascara smeared on her cheeks, she was beautiful. Even when she was dressed in ratty pajama pants with faded monkeys printed on them, she was beautiful. Even when she was wearing a too-tight, extremely thin tank top that revealed just about everything in the surprisingly chilly May night...

Stop. Right. There.

"What's wrong?" He'd already asked before, but he didn't know what else to say. His need to rant seemed trivial now, somehow.

Lorelai swallowed, trying to compose herself. "What I told you before. I'm okay. Really." She wasn't very convincing. Her voice was shaking. She lifted a trembling hand to her heart to check if it was still beating.

He sighed deeply. "Please tell me what's wrong."

"No." She took a deep breath and wiped her tearstained cheeks with her index finger.

"Lorelai..."

She crossed her arms stubbornly in front of her chest. "No. You've got problems of your own. You don't need me."

"I do need you." Luke didn't realize how true it was until the words had already escaped from his mouth. "Let me help."

"I don't want you to get hurt too, dammit." The words escaped from her mouth like doves from a cage as she closed her eyes in resignation and shut the door on a shocked Luke.

Once she was safely on the other side of the door, she sank down on the floor and let the tears fall. Her vision was blurred so that she couldn't read the words of Rory's letter in her hand, but she had already memorized the contents of the hastily scribbled note.

Dear Mom,

I'm taking a break from Stars Hollow. I should be back in a week or so. Please don't try to find me; it'll only make it harder on both of us. I need to figure this out by myself. I'm so sorry about Dean and running away like this, but it was the only way I could think of. Please don't worry.

I love you, Mommy.

Rory

It was always the same.

She never did it on purpose, but Lorelai Gilmore always ended up hurting the people she loved the most. And it looked like Rory was following in her footsteps.

A terrifying, sudden thought struck her.

What if she does what I did? What if she never comes back?


	4. Why Won't You DIE?

**A/N**: I'm leaving for China for a month-long vacation, so I kind of hurried to get this stuff up. Remember, it's without a beta (which I am still in desperate need of...anyone? Email me), so it's pretty crappy, and also at 2:30 AM, an hour and a half before my flight. Thanks for reviewing everyone. And I'm an anti-Literati, I swear. Seriously.

**Disclaimer (which I have forgotten since the first chapter)**: I own nothing. Though I wish I owned Lauren's hair. My preciousssss...  
  
"Thanks." Rory told the cabbie, shouldering her backpack and counting out the right amount of change by the dim streetlamps.   
  
He waved her off, his frayed cuff trailing tiny threads. "Don't bother. Just pay me what you've got there."  
  
"Oh, no, I can..."   
  
"Relax. Take care." Touching the brim of his hat, he smiled and accepted the handful of cash she handed him. "'Night."   
  
"You too." Rory smiled back wanly. It felt like a stretch for her facial muscles as he sped off into the night. She wondered vaguely if she would ever smile–genuinely smile–for a long time. _Probably not_, she decided as she strode purposefully toward the Greyhound bus station schedule and checked the florescent digital readout of her watch. 10:23.  
  
"New Haven...New Haven...New Haven..." She murmured softly, scanning the list. She'd decided to go back to her dorm at Yale and hide out for a while. Take out the phones, stroll around the empty campus and think. She was pretty sure there were some camps going on...   
  
"New Haven. 10:50. Damn!" Rory swore. _Now what_?  
  
A tiny idea began to form..._but after how I_..._he would never_...   
  
Sighing, she walked over to the pay phone and dropped some coins in the slot, wishing she'd thought to bring her own cell phone. Pressing zero, she cradled the phone between her ear and her shoulder.   
  
"Yes? Information? Hi, can I get the New York directory, please?..."

* * *

Three days.   
  
A long, long time to go without coffee.   
  
She'd used up her supply the first night, drinking the bad Starbucks blend tucked in the back of the cupboard. Her hand shook so badly from the stress of the evening's events that she'd dropped the Disney mug, Rory's favorite, with Piglet picking flowers. She remembered it smashing on the floor, dark liquid spattering on the bottom cabinets and pooling around the table legs, the cheery pink porcelain in a thousand shards that littered the ground.   
  
She hadn't had the heart to clean it up yet. It was beginning to sink in and stain the cheap vinyl tile. Actually, the salesman had assured her, many years ago (as she persuaded toddler Rory not to eat the carpet samples) that it was stain-resistant, but she was betting that nothing on earth could withstand coffee that strong for 72 hours on end.  
  
Luke can get rid of it, she thought automatically, but she immediately regretted it. Thinking of Luke inevitably led to thinking about her leaving him high and dry, which led to guilt, which led to pain. She should only focus on Rory, and that in itself was enough to make her head want to explode.   
  
The phone trilled loudly. Lorelai turned on her heel, racing out of the kitchen and grabbing the phone on the hall table before it even finished its first ring. "Rory?!" She gasped out, her voice thick with emotion.   
  
"What's wrong with you? Are you all right?" Emily demanded, somehow still intimidating with only her voice coming out of a tinny speaker. "Why do you need Rory?"   
  
_Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and a camel_. "Oh, mom. Um. I just, um, Rory just..she...I was, um...."   
  
"Stop blathering. What's going on?" Emily said briskly.   
  
"She's having a Sixteen Candles kinda day." She lied, thankful that her mother wasn't in the room to guess the truth. "The beginning. Maybe the middle. But definitely not the end."   
  
"Oh. I see." Emily said in a voice that told Lorelai she clearly did not.   
  
Lorelai closed her eyes painfully. "What do you want, Mom?"  
  
"What a kind question. Well, I just wanted to let you know that I'll be moving out of the house and I thought you might like some things of mine. Jewelry, extra clothes, that sort of thing. I doubt it'll all fit into the apartment." She said the word apartment the way Lorelai might have said vegetables or Leonardo DiCaprio.   
  
"Wait, wait. You're moving in an apartment?" Lorelai's voice was incredulous, her guarded tone dropping in shock.   
  
"Yes."   
  
"But you hate apartments."   
  
"Well, I can't exactly afford to be choosy, now can I? If I could, I definitely would've chosen a better room at the Dragonfly test run. Prevented this whole sordid affair."   
  
Silence.   
  
_I should've known. There is no such thing as an innocent call from Emily Gilmore._ When she finally found her voice, it was harsh and sudden. "Listen to me, Mom. You can blame me for a lot of things. Hell, on Saturday night alone, you could've blamed me for the bad champagne, you could've blamed me for no air conditioning, you could've blamed me for being a concerned daughter and giving you two a great room in hopes that you could maybe work everything out. But you cannot and will not blame your problems with Dad on me. I had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with this. How dare you?!"   
  
"Oh, Lorelai, don't be so melodramatic. It's–"   
  
Slamming the phone down in its cradle, she swallowed, trying to alleviate the tightness in her throat. It started ringing again, but this time she pulled out the phone cord and collapsed onto the couch.

* * *

"Arrrgh!" Rory punched the END CALL button on the cell phone with considerably more force than necessary. "No signal or something. What's wrong with this thing?"  
  
"Nothing. So you'll try another time." A shrug.   
  
"Don't you see? She's probably calling the police, trying to find out where I am, insanely worried. I really shouldn'tve left." Her voice was wistful. "I just...I didn't know what else to do. I couldn't deal with it. I still can't."   
  
The familiar cocked brow and smug grin. "So why'd you try and call?" "Because I'm safe. You let me stay here, I'm trying to sort everything out, and I'm not mugged or murdered or raped or anything. I don't want her to worry."   
  
"Too late for that, don't you think?"   
  
Rory glared at him, her soft blue eyes narrowed to icy slits. "Thanks a lot."   
  
Jess shrugged again. "Hey, just trying to help." 


	5. Apologies with a side of 'shippery goodn...

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but a severe case of insomnia and a burning desire to write bad fanfic.

All this waiting was killing Lorelai. She had to do something productive. Sookie had let her off the hook at the Inn, hearing the pained tone in her voice, and when she couldn't live on the contents of her fridge any longer, she'd asked Babette to pick up something, citing a headache and Rory leaving on a trip with some Yale friends.   
  
But something was gnawing at the back of her mind, aided by the early stages of caffeine withdrawl. Maybe, maybe sorting this out would take off some stress.   
  
_Maybe_.   
  
Lorelai took a deep breath and opened the door to the diner, smiling slightly as the familiar bells overhead announced her arrival. "Hi." She said timidly to the man behind the counter.  
  
He kept his eyes on the rag, wiping it back and forth. Back and forth.   
  
"Luke?" She tried again.   
  
He still didn't look up or answer, just kept wiping back and forth over the same spot.   
  
"Y'know, uh, you might wanna be careful there." She let out a nervous chuckle. "You don't wanna wear down that Formica. Actually, I have no idea what the counter's made out of or even if Formica can get worn down, but Formica seems to be the most common and economical choice nowadays, and I know how you try to save money. Which doesn't mean you're cheap or a miser or any of those bad connotations, because you're not, even if you did use Formica. And being a miser actually isn't that bad, really, 'cause I know I could afford to spend less on clothes. You could teach me something. But, um, not really, because as I said before, you're not..."  
  
"What do you want?" Though Luke was careful to keep his voice relatively emotionless, there was still an edge of exasperation. Sure, it wasn't the biggest compliment in the world, but it was familiar ground. Lorelai felt a tiny spark of hope.  
  
"I want..." _You_, she thought desperately. "Coffee." She said instead.  
  
"We're closed. We open tomorrow at..."  
  
"I know when you open."   
  
"So come back tomorrow." Luke kept his gaze on the smooth countertop, trying to keep his mind off the woman standing in front of him by trying to figure the profits for the day.   
  
"But I don't...I can't."   
  
"Why not, may I ask?" He managed through gritted teeth. _Babette got the blueberry pancakes, Kirk got scrambled eggs and whole-wheat toast..._  
  
"Because it took me a long time to work up the nerve to come in here and with this warm reception, I'm not inclined to do it again anytime this century. So I'm going to say what I'm gonna say, whether you like it or not." She crossed her arms stubbornly.   
  
"I don't see anyone stopping you." He moved on to the far table, still keeping his back to her.  
  
"You are." Lorelai accused weakly.  
  
"I have nothing to do with this. You wanted coffee, I informed you that we were closed. Very standard procedure for someone who wanders in after nine." _Patty got the grilled cheese and fries, Andrew got a cheeseburger with extra onions..._  
  
"So I'm just _someone_ now, Luke, is that it?!" She raised her voice, her crossed arms falling to her sides angrily. "I can't believe you! I know I screwed up, but you know what happened, okay?! I'm trying to fix things here and you're not even giving me a chance!"   
  
He finally whirled around to look her in the eye, his voice even louder. "To be frank with you, I'm being pretty damn nice right now because that's the kind of guy I am, okay? A stupid, idiotic guy. I shouldn't have even let you come inside because it's impossible to be in the same room with you without all these stupid emotions making me want to throw up."   
  
As she stood in shocked silence, Luke took a deep breath and lowered his voice to a cold whisper. "You didn't want me to get hurt? Well, sorry, Lorelai, but you're a bit late for that. You told me you weren't with Jason anymore; I believed you. You left me high and dry at the Inn, I didn't get the hint. And when I follow you home like some goddamn puppy, you slam the door in my face with some stupid excuse. I'm through being your whipping boy, Lorelai. And answer your question, yes, you are and always will be _someone_. _Someone_ who doesn't give a damn about me or my feelings." He spat, turning back the rag and starting to wipe the table once more.  
  
The tears came quickly, shrinking her lungs and running down her face before dripping off her chin onto her tightly stretched T-shirt. "Luke, goddammit! I came here to apologize, okay? I'm the idiot here, right up with the guy who told David Hasselhoff to become a rapper and Jessica Simpson, in that order." She faltered for a moment, brushing away her tears quickly.  
  
Closing her eyes tightly in resignation, she barreled on. "I don't want to make excuses or, or blame this on someone else like I always do, but, these past few days I've been trying not to think, but Rory, she did something bad with Dean, draw your own conclusions, and she's gone, she left, and I can't go find her, and she could be dead or lying in a ditch or dead in a ditch, and then my parents are separated, it's all my fault, and the, the inn's opening and Jason's still trying to call and you, you've been nothing but amazing to me and I need you so badly I can't eat or sleep or see or drink coffee or hardly breathe, even..." --she took a long, shuddering breath, as if to prove her point--"what's another necessity for living again? Because I don't know how I'm doing it, I don't know how my brain or my heart or my endoplasmic reticulum or the weird dangly thing in the back of my mouth is working anymore because I'm not making them and I don't know if I want them to because don't tell me I don't give a damn about you, okay?" Her knees gave out and she leaned against the counter for support, hating herself for breaking down here, in front of Luke. Hating herself for playing the victim when Luke was the one who deserved to act hurt. Hating herself for showing her weakness and dependence on this man.   
  
"Oh, jeez, Lorelai." Alarmed, Luke reached for her, his stiff posture and expression gone. "Don't do that, I'm sorry." He wrapped his arms around her, letting them gently slide to a sitting position on the tiled floor.   
  
Her sobs were hysterical now, her chest and hands shaking uncontrollably as she took unsteady, gasping breaths. "I do give a damn, I don't want to, I don't want to care but I do and it's killing me and I want to die because then I can't care but even then I think I'll still care because...because...I...I..." She hiccuped, tears still running down her cheeks. "Luke...."  
  
"Shhhhhhh." He smoothed her hair. "Don't say anything."   
  
"It's too...I'm not...don't want you to see..." Her resistance evaporating, Lorelai buried her head in the crook of his neck and inhaled, trying to let her brain remember the normal patterns of breathing in and out. It was easier, somehow, with strong arms holding her and the smell of coffee and donuts soaked into his clothes, his skin. She ached for his mouth, trying to remember if it tasted like coffee too. Three nights ago seemed a long, long time, even longer than the time she spent crying in Luke's arms. She cried and cried and cried and cried and cried, her wet, loud sobs muffled by his clothing and his occasional hum of sympathy.   
  
"Luke?" She mumbled into his (now damp) flannel shirt as her heartbeats resumed their usual pace and the tears stopped.  
  
"Lorelai, why didn't you tell me all this?" He asked, shifting so that he could look into her eyes.   
  
"Because..." She took a deep breath and glanced away. "I thought I could do it by myself. I didn't want to, you know, dump this on you before our first date." Lorelai gave a weak laugh that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Too late, right?"   
  
They were walking on thin ice. "For what?" Luke asked carefully.   
  
"I don't know?" Her voice was pleading, almost as if she wanted to know the answer from him.  
  
"Too late for what, Lorelai?" He repeated, his voice starting to crack along with the ice. He was going to fall through any minute. One misstep...  
  
"Everything."   
  
Luke said nothing. He could already feel the cold water rushing over him, suffocating him with a freezing death grip on his heart.   
  
"Fine." Lorelai sighed. "Um. Stopping Rory before she got in too deep. Saving my parents' marriage. Not involving you in my insanity and making a good impression and all the other important things you're supposed to do on the first date, before the first date that didn't happen because I was too late in doing all those other things and because you probably hate me now."   
  
He shook his head slightly, trying to digest all this information at once. "I don't hate you." The words came out quietly, almost too soft to hear.   
  
"You don't have to be nice to me." Lorelai tried to smile, failing miserably as her eyes filled again. "I'm pretty sure strong dislike and hate can be lumped together in the same category."   
  
"I know." This was Luke. Always there, always neutral, always calm. Willing to take whatever she dumped in his lap. Lorelai hated herself for doing it and hated him for taking it. She hated her stomach floating up to her chest cavity whenever he spoke, hated needing him so much. She hated that he didn't hate her, because that was what she deserved.  
  
Still, she was grateful.   
  
"I'm sorry." Lorelai murmured.   
  
"I know."   
  
A real smile now, small but genuine. "You know a lot of things."  
  
"It comes with the job." He replied absently, stroking her hair.   
  
"Diner man, professional comforter, or Superman?"   
  
"All three. Though I renegotiated the tights."   
  
"Good." Lorelai shifted, glancing down and picking at her manicure. After a moment's silence, she looked up again. "Luke?"   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"Are we okay?" She hoped that the desperation in her voice was imagined.   
  
"I think so." Luke smiled reassuringly.   
  
"Are we..." She chose her words carefully. "More than okay?"   
  
"I don't know." He told her honestly, his smile fading. Though most of him ached for her as her face fell, a tiny, selfish part of him got some sort of pleasure from the obvious fact that she was in pain because of him.  
  
"Oh. Okay." Lorelai disentangled herself from him, scooting back and beginning to stand up. "Well, um, thanks for, y'know, everything. I'll see you...sometime. You know. Because of..."   
  
"Lorelai, wait." He scrambled up, his head narrowly missing the counter overhang. "I didn't mean..."   
  
"I understand. It's fine." She told him in an unusually high-pitched, uneven voice as she grabbed her purse and coat and made for the door as quickly as her brightly patterned Via Spigas would allow. "I really shouldn't be surprised, I mean, after all I've unloaded on you..."   
  
Luke sighed heavily, grabbing her hand and pulling her to him. "Don't do this."  
  
"Do what?" Lorelai demanded, avoiding his eyes and trying to conceal the fact that there were fresh tears in her own. That makes the crying-while-talking-to-Luke count at three. Or four. What's the record? She wondered idly. She caught a glimpse of herself in the diner window, reflective with the darkened sky. _Shit, I'm a mess._  
  
"Don't run away." His free hand drifted up to her face, pressing his index finger against her lips as they began to open in protest. "I...I want things to be more than okay. But I don't know if now..." He paused, searching for words as his thumb rubbed gently over the soft underside of her wrist.   
  
She said nothing.   
  
Luke exhaled and glanced downward, dropping her hand. He'd never noticed that crack in the tile before. "I need to be here for you as a friend. And I don't think it would be good for either of us if I was here for...more than that. Now. You don't need more stuff to figure out." He raised his eyes to meet hers. "I...I want this more than anything, Lorelai. Anything. But you...I think you should be looking for Rory right now. Why don't you tell someone? Babette, Patty...you know how much we would do for her. We could bring her home."  
  
"She doesn't want me to find her." A single tear slid down her already-wet face.   
  
"What?!"   
  
"Rory told me in her note not to go looking for her." Lorelai swallowed. "I love her, I worry about her, I think I'd mow down a reincarnated Audrey Hepburn if she was blocking the line that runs between me and my daughter, but then I think about what I wrote in my letter to my mom." She smiled ruefully. "I have a lot more sympathy for Emily Gilmore now."   
  
"But you can't...this is Rory!" Luke sputtered. "She..."   
  
"It's Rory. And I love her more than myself and Circus Peanuts and anything else in the world, and I trust her and god, I wish I could pull a Jim Carrey and drag her back here, but that's not what she wants. It's not what she needs right now."  
  
"Oh, come on, Lorelai! You don't believe a word you're saying. She needs to come home. Avoiding the problem isn't going to do anything! She could be in trouble right now, bigger trouble, and you have no idea!"   
  
"Don't tell me what to do, Luke!" She snapped. "Don't you think I know this? Don't you think I want to have her safe with me? But she messed up, and now she's trying to deal with it as best she can."   
  
"By running away?" Luke returned. "I'm sorry, but I don't think that's gonna help her at all. Find her and bring her back. What if she's hurt? I love that kid, Stars Hollow loves that kid..."   
  
"I love her more." Lorelai interrupted. "And I trust her. She's too smart to do what I did. I have to believe that." Her voice wavered. "Otherwise, I'll go crazy."   
  
Luke exhaled loudly and said nothing, but met her eyes in a look that said, clearly, _I don't like it, but it's up to you_.   
  
After a few moments, Lorelai stood up. "I, uh, should go home." She gave him a careful smile. "Thanks. And sorry. For...well, you know...and for letting me..."  
  
Luke half-smiled and leaned over, pressing his lips aginst hers, intended as a goodnight. The kiss quickly lengthened, became more demanding, more intimate, until they broke apart, gasping for air.   
  
"What was that? What...what happened to being friends?" She demanded, her body buzzing with electricity.   
  
"You drive me crazy." He returned, avoiding the question.   
  
Lorelai gave him a dazzling smile as she opened the door of the diner and stepped out into the night. "You have _got_ to stop watching Dawson's Creek."


End file.
